March 20, 2019

With my room mate moving out at the end of this month, I am in the bittersweet position of having to find some new pieces for my space (bitter because... I'm going to miss her. sweet because, an opportunity to thrift and decorate anew!).

March 13, 2019

I wrote this post in December, after we lost our family pup on the 24th. I've never fully understood peoples' deep emotional reactions to losing a dog, beyond just the initial wave of sadness and loss. I'm still feeling it in March and occasionally having little cries. I didn't want to revisit or re-read this until now, hence why I haven't posted it until today.

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There are so many funny, loving, wonderful minutiae I want to capture in words and remember about this little guy. It has been helpful to hear: love does not end upon death, we exist as memories even when our hearts stop beating, energy exists just in different ways... But there is such a physical emptiness in our house since he left.

I want to remember how he would come running at me when I sat on the floor, then turn and nuzzle excitedly into my lap, rubbing his head against my inner thighs and knees, almost in the way a cat rubs the side of its face against you in affection.

I want to remember the weight of his little 6 pound body in bed, pressed against my legs, using my bum as a pillow. The way he'd re-adjust for maximum surface area contact if you'd change position. The way he'd want to sleep right in between me and my guy, should we both be sleeping, for EVEN more maximum surface area. I want to remember how, if I patted the bed next to me he'd shuffle up and get his head next to mine, kiss-licking my cheek a little, snuggled under an arm.

I want to remember the way he'd sit in my lap at the kitchen table when I worked there, or hung out with my parents after a meal, the way he'd sit on my lap but also lay back into my arms at the same time. Every once in a while, seemingly unprompted, he'd lift up his head, lick his lips, and look up at me with his big glossy brown eyes. Just a little hello via eye contact even after hours of sitting in my lap.

I want to remember how jealous he was anytime my dad and step mum danced together in the kitchen, how he'd jump up at them, hugging their legs as though trying to join in on the dance.

I want to remember the way he'd start his legs running before you even put him all the way down on the floor after bathing him. How he would then run down the long hallway in our house at full speed and rub his wet ears on his personal little carpet.

I want to remember the time I was dog sitting and fell sick, and how he let me sleep for twelve hours without waking me to ask for food or to go outside.

I want to remember the absolutely wonky, ridiculous face he'd make when he'd slept on one side of his face and suddenly lift his head, one side totally flattened, making him look a little nutty.

I want to remember the way he'd station himself at the front window, and perk up as he noticed you walking up the doorway. There was also this tense moment of him staring you down, then as you get nearer, the sudden howling and excitement. I miss being announced every time I went over.

I will always remember these warm welcomes, these melty snuggles, these funny faces, these unhindered, authentic, enthusiastic moments of play. There are so many millions of things I could say, Oliver brought so much to our lives for a beautiful 10 years. I have this picture of us taped up next to my bed, it was taken in September when I last dog sat for my parents. That week is one of my warmest memories of my relationship with this little snuggler, our Moo.

This article by Tara Bahrampour is a really enjoyable read and it fills my heart with SO MUCH JOY to know that there are so many people actively trying to change how our society perceives dementia and persons living with dementia. If you want a sneak peek into my work and school world, this is a great great read.

Listen ~

This song doesn't need much explanation - listen to it, wish you owned that hat, enjoy ~